Last Minute Politics
by Musicaltheatreweirdo
Summary: When Ginny Weasley is newly out of work, soon to be broke, and in search of a new career choice, where can she turn? The answer: politics.


Last-Minute Politics

By: Musicaltheatreweirdo

Disclaimer- I own nothing and am making no money.

"You can't fucking be serious." Ginny Weasley said, her voice deadpan.

"Oh, but we are," Benicia replied wantonly, flashing at Ginny a rather sadistic smile.

" We no longer require your services."

"No—no longer require my services ? I'm the sodding overseer! Last time I checked, I was _your _boss." Ginny shot back, fixing Benicia with a flabbergasted look. " Look, I don't know what you're on about, Benicia..."

" Weasley. Please. Pack your stuff."

" You—you--I don't.." Ginny stammered, nonplussed.

"Listen, Weasley. Orders are orders. You're out, I'm in. The boss isn't happy with your little… shall we say… escapades."

" Escapades? I—"

" With Jones. We've got a strict no- fraternization code, you know." Benicia's mouth curved into a demonic- looking arc.

" Jones? I never slept with—with Jones." Too late. A beet red flush was creeping traitorously up Ginny's neck; a dead giveaway.

" Oh, I think you have, Miss Weasley. Now, I've got business to attend to. Pack up your stuff. Have a nice day."

" Benicia."

" Weasley ?"

" You're a bitch, you know? A real cow."

It was an insult she lived to regret.

Percy Weasley's office, called 'The Oblong' around the Ministry, was, in truth, the receptacle for the magical government's waste. It was an oval-shaped room that was devilishly hard to furnish because of its unusual shape, and it smelled vaguely of disinfectant and smoke. Bookshelves crammed tightly with leather-bound volumes lined the walls in an awkward, bumpy pattern, because of the apparent lack of a flat background, and any space that was left uncovered by a bookshelf was an untidy collage of plaques and certificates. There were no windows, considering that the Ministry of Magic was located underground, which gave the room a very closed-in air. The lighting charm, which had been installed years prior, was dim with age and sometimes petered out as if from exhaustion. The office was sparsely furnished: a desk covered with scorch marks from various howlers sat opposite from the door, and two fading leather chairs lay on the other side of the desk. The office formerly belonged to Cornelius Fudge, the then Minister of Magic, and had once been richly furnished, but his furnishings and office moved down the corridor a ways after the construction of brand-new offices, and likewise the election of a brand-new Minister: Rufus Scrimgeour.

The Oblong was now the residence of the assistant Minister, Percy Weasley, and therefore was the bull pen for howlers, angry letters, and anything else the Minister didn't want. All hate mail, exceptionally boring bills, and unnecessary memos were sifted magically from Scrimgeour's post and detoured directly to The Oblong to be addressed by the Minister's assistant, which made for a very shitty job, indeed.

Weasley, more commonly known around the office as You Effing Tightwad, and much less commonly known as ' peener' was in the midst of removing a large ink stain from his meticulously organized desk, when there was a knock at the office door. He debated for a while whether he should actually answer it—he really was doing such important work here—and then thought better of the previous notion.

" Come in," he snapped, still focused on wiping away the stain.

" Ah, Mr. Weasley ? Yeah. We've got a bit of a situation here. Yeah—someone's in the waiting room here, screaming about communism or whatever."

" Jenna," Percy breathed, looking up slowly to enjoy the full view of her creamy white legs, slender waist, and ripe breasts. " Jenna," he said again, realizing that he was staring. " Ah...what's his name?"

" Yeah. I don't know, sir. He looks like he hasn't bathed for about a month."

" Well, I don't know either, then." Percy said, gazing longingly at his secretary's chest. He shook his head slightly and moved his gaze back up to her face. "Send him away."

" I've already done so."

" Do it again, then."

_Oh, yes, Jenna, do it again, baby…_

" I've tried it twice, sir. He's not leaving."

" Jenna," Percy groaned, putting on a look of feigned perplexity. Really, he just liked the sound of her name when he said it. " I'm only the minister's assistant, you know. I can't address all of these—reformers' issues. That's what letters for the ministry are for. Merlin, that's what democracy is for!"

Jenna rolled her copper-colored eyes.

" He wants an economy—er—for the people, or whatever." Jenna said dismissively, examining her nails. Percy couldn't help but to use this moment to examine her voluptuous rump.

" Alright!" Percy snapped, his voice dripping with carefully-acted frustration. " I'll see him. But only for a while. Then you're going to creatively interrupt things, if you know what I mean. I'm tired of reformers, Jenna. The next time you happen to see one walk up to your desk, curse him."

Jenna gave him a vacant look, and he waved his hand dismissively.

" Never you mind. Just go and fetch him."

As she retreated from his office to let in his visitor, he was graced with a small peep of her bubblegum-pink underwear that was rising just visibly above the waistline of her skirt.

He took the short time that Jenna was gone to look in the mirror that sat on a shelf above his desk, straighten his glasses and smooth his hair. Making sure that you look considerably more well-kempt than the person you were about to speak to, reason with, or possibly curse into oblivion was highly important. Not only did it make your opponent look like an arse, it also served as a confidence boost. As soon as he had turned around, the reformer had already taken a seat in one of the chairs that lay in front of his desk.

" Ah," Percy said, a leer of polite disdain quirking at the corners of his lips. " Lucius Malfoy."

" Weasley," Malfoy said, inclining his head in greeting.

The once rich aristocrat's angular and regal face was creased with premature age and crusted over with decrepit deranged-ness. Although quite harmless, his seven-year stint in Azkaban had rendered him to be but a fraction of the man that he was before the dark days of the Second War.

" Weasley," Malfoy repeated, shaking a gnarled finger at him from across the desk. "You goddamn bastard, Weasley. When I say economic reform, I want economic reform!"

" Yes, Yes, I know, Mr. Malfoy," Percy sighed, nodding dully. " But I'm afraid that—"

" You know, Weasley, in my day, I dominated your family. It's absolute poppycock--- cock! Cock, cock, cock, cock!" Malfoy giggled in a rather childish manner. His visage gave the expression that he had just said something very naughty.

" I believe we were discussing economic reform, Malfoy ?" Percy said, his face starting to pinch.

" Cock! Ah? Oh, yes. Communist reform," Malfoy replied, looking slightly flustered. "Yes, well I and a few of my colleagues.."

_Malfoy's got colleagues?  
_

"…have come together for a meeting, you know. And we think that we should reform our economy—the full monty." This elicited another giggle from Malfoy. " We want communism, damn it, Weasley!"

" Communism?"

"Communism."

" Where all production is in the hands of the people."

" Er—yes."

" I see. Well, should the need arise for economic reform, Mr. Malfoy, we will certainly consult you and your—er—colleagues."

" Damn it! Merlin's eyes, I will not be ignored!" Malfoy bellowed, slamming his fist down on Percy's desk in an amazing display of testosterone. Percy jumped slightly, then promptly reached forward to adjust the position of his inkpot, which had been put slightly askew from Malfoy's recent outburst. He tweaked his spectacles and looked at Malfoy, who looked thoroughly livid, his jaw clenched with laughable disdain.

" We are not ignoring your requests, Mr. Malfoy," Percy replied testily. " We merely think that—"

" What about what the people think !"

_That's something I never expected to hear coming out of Lucius Malfoy's mouth._

" The people _aren't_ calling for reform, Malfoy," Percy continued, perplexed. " I was simply stating that your ideas of political reform are a bit too radical for the majority. We are going through an age of conservatism here in wizarding Britain, and a concept so—well—out-of-the-ordinary would not be well received in society. However, your ideas are important to us nonetheless…"--It was standard procedure to thank someone for making a ruckus in the ministry if it had to do with critiquing the system—"…and we are very glad you have come to us with your opinions."

Lucius Malfoy looked utterly nonplussed. It took all of five seconds for his eyes to shed their blank look, and return to their former squint of irritability.

" I know what you're doing, Weasley," Malfoy said cryptically, wagging an accusing finger in Percy's face. " Blinding me with that namby-pamby political jargon of yours! Well, I see right through your nonsense, sir."

" I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, I am not—"

" Assure! Assure! Assure!" Malfoy threw his hands up, looking quite aggravated. " What is there to be assured of, Weasley?"

" I was merely saying that—"

" I can see right through you, Weasley."

Percy suddenly had the wild urge to cover his privates, but quickly suppressed it.

" I'm sure, Malfoy," Percy replied, rolling his eyes. " Now, if you please—"

" Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley!"

Percy looked up, a look of well-acted alarm on his face. Jenna and he had practiced this method of getting rid of unwanted guests many times before; it never failed.

" You've an urgent call from your mother. Your grandmother took a tumble on the stairs."

Percy immediately feigned a piteous-looking, deer-in-the-headlights expression.

" Gram? Grammie ?" He croaked melodramatically. " Oh, no. Jenna, will she be all right?"

" I don't know, sir." Her voice was an unconvincing monotone.

" I cannot believe this," Percy wailed pathetically, covering his eyes. " Grammie! Oh, my dear Grammie!"

" Perhaps I should escort you to the door, Mr., Malfoy," Jenna said in the same monotone, laying a hand on his shoulder.

" Right. I do think Weasley had lost his testicles, my dear. Such a pity, pity, pity." With labored breathing, Malfoy heaved himself to his feet and hobbled out of the office, leaning heavily on Jenna's shoulder. Percy treated himself to a long, lecherous look at her swaying flank as they left his office.

_Now,_ he thought,_ to business. _

He pulled a sheet of parchment toward him and unearthed a new quill from his desk drawer. Taking a deep breath, he proceeded to write.

_Dear Penelope,_

_I would love to have the wedding in November. Can't wait until I get home! I love you.  
__  
- Percy._

_Well, _Ginny thought as she gazed at the angry-looking bruise that was starting to bud around her left eye._ I can't say I didn't take anything away from that experience. _

It really wasn't all that bad, though. Sure, the job that she had until recently held as deputy overseer for the _Daily Prophet_ was the best she had ever had when it came to financial dealings. But all along, she had clandestinely longed to beat Benicia-the-hag, the head overseer's brown-nosing secretary, to a bloody pulp. Sleeping with her ever-so-slightly irresistible co-worker, Bertram Jones, was the singular perk.

Ginny looked around the flat that she had owned since she was a teenager. Would it really go to waste so quickly? She had moved in some months after she had started her first ever real job as a journalist for_ Aphrodite_, a seedy witch's magazine that barley anyone knew about. However, it provided a comfortable living and enough money for a cozy little one-bedroom flat in London, which was more than she could have hoped for. The flat was modern in appearance, with snow-white stucco walls, and a small, steel-fortified kitchen. There was a bedroom of average size, with a bathroom the next room over, and a modest den that was separated from the kitchen by a footwall. She had since moved on to other jobs, and they all fortunately paid for her apartment, but she had never been fired before. Her current state might prove to be a bit of a predicament.

Vaguely, she wondered how long she could go on without a job. No money would ultimately lead to no more food, no more contraceptive potion, no more shopping, and eventual physical consumption by renegade termites. And, not to mention, surefire eviction.

Sighing loudly, she slumped onto her futon sofa, suddenly feeling very destitute. If no job meant all of these things, then she had to find some sort of occupation, and quickly. Preferably a job where she wouldn't get her posterior firmly kicked by any neo-Nazi co-workers. She racked her brain for options.

There was always the freelance journalist choice. She could be sublimely trendy and write cheeky articles for _Witch Weekly_ about female ejaculation and how it correlated to new age feminism. Then again, Ginny was never one for overanalyzing masturbation, or, for that matter, speaking about it candidly.

She could become an overseer for some remote magazine or newspaper that nobody read, and meekly analyze what other journalists were writing.

_While simultaneously lying flat on your back for the ever-so-slightly irresistible co-worker in the office next to you ? _Ginny mused, leering in a most unladylike manner. _I'd rather not have another fiasco like that, please._

There was _The Quibbler.  
_  
Ginny shuddered visibly. That certainly would not do.

By rote, she got out of her sulky seat on the sofa, and walked over to the icebox. Reaching in, she pulled out a chilled bottle of vodka, toasted the air, and drank deeply. It was far too early on in her unemployment to worry to the point of hemorrhage about a new job. Now, she wanted to get fantastically drunk and forget the day's events, if only for a while. Just as she was about to tilt her head back for another hearty drink, an unexpected knock sounded at the door. Frowning, Ginny set the bottle down on the counter and went to answer it, finding her very strung-out looking brother standing at the threshold.

" Hi, Percy," Ginny said, surprised. She moved forward to give him a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek. " Wow. What're you doing around here? Come in, come in, I was just—er—having a drink."

Percy stepped inside, took off his cloak and let it fall to the floor, along with a paper bag full of vegetables.

" Ah, I was just here to get some stuff at that market down the street. Penny likes the produce there." Percy sighed, taking a seat on the sofa. " I thought I'd pop by. Got any vodka tonic for your best older brother?"

" Coming right up. How's the wedding business going?"

" Dreadful. It's taken forever just to figure out what bloody month the wedding's going to be in. Not to mention the color scheme, food, guests, and what-not…Ah, there's a good girl." Percy took the drink that Ginny handed him, immediately starting to sip. Meanwhile, Ginny made herself comfortable on the other end of the sofa. " Penny's on edge about the location—she's saying that if we don't get one now, it'll be another year before we're married."

" Naturally."

" It's a bloody nightmare, really. The wedding, combined with the shit at the office is driving me mad. Next time you see me, I'll be in the hopeless cases ward at St. Mungo's, wanking off in a corner while muttering on about Cornish Pixies."

Ginny laughed, toasted Percy, and took another long gulp from her bottle of vodka, which she had brought with her from the kitchen to the couch.

" So it _is_ shit at the office, then ? " Ginny asked, as Percy sipped again at his vodka-tonic. " No improvements?"

" None. Shitty business as usual, I'm afraid. Just this afternoon I had Lucius Malfoy in, screaming about communism."

" Communism?"

" Communism."

" Jesus," Ginny snorted, looking at Percy with pity. " It's worse than I thought."

" You're telling me. You didn't have to listen to the tosser for half an hour. He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about, but he couldn't give a flying fuck. Azkaban's addled him—he says he's got colleagues, for Merlin's sake."

Ginny giggled, taking another sip of vodka. " Malfoy? Malfoy's got colleagues?"

" According to him. Colleagues to him, though, may mean any number of things. Tables, chairs, that sort of shit. Listen, fuck him, how's work for you been?" Percy leaned forward and took another gulp of his drink, looking intrigued.

" It hasn't been." Ginny grimaced visibly. She had been afraid that he would ask this.

"Pardon?"

" I've been sacked."

"What!" Percy exclaimed, an incredulous expression on his face. " Sacked? When? Why? Jesus, Ginevra, _how_?"

" I've, er—" Ginny stammered, pondering her answer. She couldn't very well tell her brother that she'd shagged her co-worker. " I…er…called my boss' secretary a cow." She fingered the small bruise under her eye. Percy gave her a searching look.

" Is that all?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Erm, yes."

" No."

" Yes."

" No."

" Jesus, Percy! All right! I've shagged my co-worker. Satisfied?" Ginny snapped, irritated. " It's none of your business anyway, you effing ponce."

" You shagged your co-worker? How very sordid."

"Shud uuuurp," Ginny moaned, shutting her eyes as if trying to physically bar the recollection of the day's events from resurfacing in her mind. " I was planning to get smashed and forget all about it."

" I was wondering why you weren't using a glass." Percy said haughtily, jerking his head at the bottle of vodka clasped in Ginny's hand. " Well, what are you going to do for your next paycheck?"

" Well, bugger me, I haven't the foggiest," Ginny slurred, realizing that the liquid in her bottle was almost gone. Percy's head was starting to look a bit fuzzy.

" What's mum going to say?"

" Dunno. Wasn't planning on telling her until I got a new job."

Percy swayed slightly. Ginny glanced at the drink in his hand and noticed that it was nearly empty, too.

" You haven't got a refill for me, have you?"

Ginny leaned over and shakily poured the last scanty contents of her bottle into Percy's glass.

" Aah. Good." He spluttered stupidly, looking down his nose at Ginny. " You know, election is coming up soon, for the Minister of Magic." Percy cleared his throat, his face purpling from a mixture of alcohol and a genuine shy flush. " I'm going to run."

" What!" Ginny squeaked, jumping up. As soon as she did, she instantly regretted it, and plopped back down onto the couch, massaging her temples. She had stood up too fast. In all of her excitement, she had forgotten she was tipsy. " You'll have a nervous breakdown!"

"Yes, yes, I know." Percy sniffed, drunkenly flapping a hand to silence her. " But why not? Being the minister is my life's ambilition. Amkitchen. Goal."

" Shit, Perce," Ginny said morosely, letting out a long hiss. " You can't expect to win, though, can you?"

" Well, I don't know." Percy slurred, running a hand through his hair. "It's a coin toss, really. The public wants conslervatives. I'm conslervative."

" You're a damn good conslervative, brudder," Ginny grinned, slapping his shoulder. " But there's other shit—like the opponents, your viewpoints. You've gotta have the brilleve points, or else everyone thinks you're shit."

" I'm not shit." Percy hiccupped, looking deeply wounded. He got up, walked to the kitchen, and pulled another chilled bottle of vodka out of the icebox. He took a hearty swig before continuing, " I have the brilleve points. I got 'em with the—"

Percy was suddenly looking at Ginny very strangely. For a split second, Ginny thought he was going to pass out. Instead, he rushed over to the sofa and knelt at Ginny's feet.

" Ginny, would you do the brilleve points for me?" he pleaded, eyes wide. " Be my clampin manager? I'll pay you moneys."

Ginny didn't need time to think. She nodded once, swayed, and threw up violently onto Percy's knees.


End file.
